Lieutenant Asha Relin walked into the medical ward, a tablet in hand, and approached Dr. Elias Grant's bed.
"Dr. Grant, how are you holding up today?" she asked.
Grant gave a tired smile. "Better than before. The pain's still there, but it's manageable."
"You'll have to work through it," Relin said as she checked his vitals. "We can't increase your painkillers any further."
"It's all right," Grant replied. "I can handle this much."
Relin flipped through his latest reports. "Your readings look good. You just need time—for the cuts to heal, the ribs to mend. The bruises will fade too."
Grant took a breath. "Now… can you tell me what your people saw? When they found me?"
Relin paused, then let out a small sigh. "I'm not technically supposed to say this without higher clearance… but you were there. And you might be our only chance of understanding what happened. But first—what do you remember?"
Grant leaned back, thinking. "We were heading toward the Ravenrock Mountains. Stopped for fuel. Then… out of nowhere, something hit us. The radar showed nothing. I was caught in the blast, and within seconds—darkness. When I woke up, I was already here."
"So you didn't see or hear anything during the attack?" Relin asked.
Grant shook his head. "No. I was out cold almost immediately."
Relin hesitated. "Maybe it's a good thing you were."
Grant looked at her, confused. "Why?"
"Because what the soldiers found out there…" she paused. "It was a nightmare. Bodies torn to shreds. Limbs scattered. People sliced clean in half. Even the armored transports—cut through like paper."
Grant's face paled. His jaw tightened as he tried to process the words.
Relin continued, more gently this time. "We found you pinned under rubble. Your leg was crushed. Fractured ribs, deep lacerations, massive blood loss. We got you back here as fast as we could. Honestly—we barely saved you."
There was a silence. Then Relin added, quieter, "We should've moved sooner. When we heard your unit was relocating, we hesitated. If we hadn't, maybe…"
Grant cut her off with a firm but calm voice. "Don't blame yourself. Even if your team had arrived earlier, it wouldn't have changed much. If something can slice armored vehicles in half, then sending more people would've just meant more bodies on the ground."
Relin went quiet. The weight of his words hung heavy.
After a moment, Grant asked, "Did you find anything at the site? Anything that gives us a clue about what attacked?"
Relin shifted her stance. "I'm sorry. I can't share that with you. Not without clearance from higher up."
Grant nodded. "Understood. But when you do get clearance—I want to know. Immediately."
Lieutenant Asha Relin entered General Kaelen Mordane's office and stood at attention.
"Sir," she began. "Dr. Grant is requesting access to the findings retrieved from the attack site."
Mordane looked up from his report. "What's his current condition?"
"He's stable now," Relin replied. "But he still needs time before he can move around properly."
The General's eyes narrowed. "Then he needs to wait. If we tell him about that shard now, he'll start analyzing it from his bed. He'll push himself too hard, and we can't afford to lose a man like him."
He paused, then added firmly, "Tell him to focus on recovery. When he's cleared for movement, we'll talk."
Relin gave a crisp nod. "Understood. I'll deliver the message personally."
As she left, she crossed paths with Major Rix Harrow in the corridor.
"Lieutenant Relin," Harrow greeted.
She stopped and returned the nod. "Major. Something you need?"
Harrow asked, "How's Specialist Renn holding up?"
"He's fine," she said. "Vitals normal. No unusual readings so far."
"Good." Harrow's tone was unreadable. "Please, carry on."
Relin resumed her walk and reached Dr. Grant's room. He was awake, sitting upright in bed.
"Any news?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Relin sighed. "The General denied your request. He said you need to focus on healing. No clearance for now."
Grant exhaled sharply but didn't argue. "Fine. Can't argue with the General."
Out in the wilds, the scout team pressed on, their vehicle—Strider—rumbling steadily over uneven terrain.
Kato Drex sat in the backseat now, eyes half-closed. Rhea Tannis was back at the wheel, her posture alert, fingers dancing lightly across the controls. Vinn Seras, as always, sat quietly beside her, reading the signal from the 'Nomad' tracker.
They drove through the fading light of day, then made camp under the stars.
Elsewhere, in the small town, Nero lay still on the narrow bed, his eyes drifting shut beneath the soft creak of the ceiling fan. Silence fell.
Then—
A sound.
Distant. Muffled. Like someone calling through water.
"…lo? …gelo? Angelo?"
Nero's eyes opened—but he wasn't in the room anymore.
He was standing in a world soaked in haze, a memory with no color, no warmth. A man walked toward him from the mist. Nero couldn't see the face, but the voice reached him.
"Hey, you alright?" the man asked. "We need to keep moving north."
Nero's lips parted, but no voice came out. Only silence.
A second voice followed. Female. Stern, yet familiar.
"I told you not to read in the car."
Then the first voice again, thoughtful and amused:
"You ever try using fire and water together to make heavy mist? Could hide your position. Maybe even mask your scent."
The woman's voice snapped back,
"If you two ever pull a stunt like that again without warning me, I swear I'll beat both of you senseless."
Nero stood motionless. He couldn't move, couldn't speak—but he knew them. Knew these voices, these words, even if the faces refused to show themselves.
The world around him darkened.
The same two figures stood nearby, guns drawn, moving through shadows. They shouted—but he couldn't hear them. Their mouths opened, yelling warnings or commands, but the world was mute. Gunfire flashed, silent and hollow.
Then—
They were gone.
"Behind you—!"
A voice rang out. One he knew with painful clarity.
It was him. Angelo.
Nero turned and saw him, struggling to rise from rubble.
He followed Angelo's panicked gaze—and saw them.
Slender, towering creatures—arms like jagged swords.
They lunged—
Stabbing the man, through his back and woman through the chest.
Both collapsed, lifeless, crumpling like paper.
Angelo screamed.
He charged, firing blindly, grief ripping the sound from his throat. His pain echoed even in silence, pure and raw.
Nero stood frozen.
Then everything shattered again into shadow.
A voice whispered in the dark. Angelo's voice, full of blame:
"You let them get killed. They died because of you. People always die around you."
Nero spun around, searching for him—
But he was alone.
Another voice spoke. Calm. Analytical. Deep.
"Perfect recall… comprehension… and now material reconstruction?"
Nero's breath caught in his throat.
That voice.
He knew that voice.
"You're talking about combustion enhancement… through mental synthesis," it said. "Do you have any idea how insane that is?"
Nero ran through the blackness, chasing it, desperate.
"Holy— That wasn't a fireball. That was a goddamn miniature sun!"
Then—
"Hey, kid."
Nero turned.
A figure stood before him. The face was hidden behind black smoke, but the stance, the tone—it struck something deep inside.
The figure raised a hand, offering a shake.
"Dr. Elias Grant," he said with a crooked grin. "Your new tutor, mentor, and favorite source of headaches."
The smoke faded.
And the face—finally—was revealed.
It hit Nero like a bolt to the chest.
It was him. Grant.
The tears came before he could stop them—sudden, overwhelming. His body shook with silent sobs. He tried to speak, but no words came. Just tears.
He reached forward—
But the dream broke.
Nero gasped awake, lungs tight, heart pounding in his chest.
The room was still. The morning light was pale and quiet.
He wiped the tears from his eyes.
The dream was already fading.
But two things burned into his mind—
The name.
The face.
Dr. Elias Grant.